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“Satisfactory for her to find this remedy for nerves,” Ann reflected a trifle cynically; but hardly so pleasant for the small child who had provided the outlet. Yet, when Mrs. Holmes sat down beside Ann, praising her skill, and thanking her for what she had done in transforming an old hat into something which looked like a Parisian model, the girl felt once more the spell of her employer’s fascinating personality.

“I’m very sorry I lost my temper with Biddy today,” said Mrs. Holmes. “But Biddy and I both suffer from stormy temperaments. We have these clashes sometimes. I ought to have more self-control, I know. You were shocked, weren’t you?”

“‘Shocked’ has a prudish sound about it. I was… sorry too.”

“For me, or for Biddy?”

Ann considered this for a moment.

“Very sorry for Biddy at first, and more sorry for you afterwards.”

“You thought it a dreadful exhibition?”

Ann didn’t answer, and Mrs. Holmes, who had been sitting in a wicker chair beside the bed, got up and moved to the open window.

“It was a dreadful exhibition,” she said in a low tone, not looking at Ann. “I know that without being told. But I want you to try and forget it. This last week I’ve been nearly off my head with nerves. I haven’t slept, and I feel a wreck. I hope I don’t look one.”

She turned, and Ann was forced to laugh.

“You know quite well that you are looking a picture,” she said.

“That’s what I came in to find out,” admitted Mrs. Holmes. “I’m intolerably vain—but I needn’t inform